Cynthia struggled to put on some clothes, biting back the intense pain in her abdomen. She leaned against the staircase, swaying unsteadily as she descended, nearly losing her balance several times.
The neighborhood was eerily quiet in the early morning, not a soul in sight. The area was made up of lower-income residents, and it was rare for a taxi to pass by, let alone stop. She didn't have the strength to make it to the main road, and for a brief moment, a sense of hopelessness washed over her. She thought she might die right there, in the cold, desolate neighborhood, at the brink of spring.
She had never felt so vulnerable, so desperate for someone to care for her, to be there for her in that moment. Her stomach continued to churn with relentless cramping, each wave more agonizing than the last, as if it would tear her insides apart.